“But what happened?” demanded Augusta, whose sporting instincts were deeply intrigued by Peg’s version of the encounter between the boys. Nothing loth, the Colonel indulged himself in a graphic description of the battle. “A clear win, beautifully generalled and superbly handled! Like an old ringer he was. The boy has it in him. And were it not for the horrible fact that that young beast Asa had blurted out the wretched story, doubtless with his own beastly embellishments, we should have all been celebrating tonight. As it is, I know that boy is not sleeping, and I tell you, Augusta, I am quite sick about it. The boy will go to his father. Nothing under heaven will keep him back. He loves to be here, but if it tears his heart up by the roots he will go. The very wrong-doing of his father is a kind of lure. If people are down on his father, all the more the boy will be at his side. And, b’gad, I think the more of him for it. Tomorrow morning the boy leaves us forever.” “Why, in all the world?” “Point of honour. His father’s shame will be his.” “And do you mean to say he will be tied for life to his father’s Indian wife and half-breed family?” “As to the Indian wife, she is as good as the husband, if not a bit better.” “But impossible, Edgar. She will be a burden, a burden impossible. Why should a young boy assume that handicap?” “Mark me, he’ll stick to his father. Try him tomorrow.” The Colonel was proved to be right in his judgment, for, a quarter of an hour after lessons and practice were finished, Paul stood ready at the door of the living room. “The wagon will come for my box, Aunt Augusta,” he said, standing up white and very straight. “Mother! Mother! He says he’s going to leave us! And his father told him to stay. Tell him to stay, Mother.” Peg’s face was red and indignant. “And why are you leaving us, Paul? Come here and sit down and let us talk it over.” Paul approached her, but did not sit down. “Are you not happy here?” Augusta’s voice, when she chose, could carry a world of tenderness. Paul’s lip trembled. He could not trust his voice, and before Peg he would rather suffer much bodily injury than “cry like a girl.” So he wisely remained silent, while Augusta cunningly and carefully marshalled her arguments which she had spent much of the night in preparing. The boy would have often made reply but for his recreant lips which would not keep firm. In the midst of the one-sided argument the Colonel entered the room. “Daddy! oh, Daddy! he says he’s going away!” stormily cried Peg, whose emotions had been deeply wrought upon by her mother’s moving argumentation. “Is he, Peg?” enquired the Colonel gravely. The Colonel’s quiet voice fell upon them like the doom of fate. For the first time since Paul’s first announcement to her two hours ago, his departure seemed possible, and, as she looked at her father’s serious face, inevitable. With a cry the child flung herself into her mother’s arms in a passion of tears.